Chapter 38

Storm’s End,
The Stormlands
That very evening

“Open up for your rightful lord!” the commander of the small, already besieged Lannister garrison at Storm’s End, Ser Martyn Hill, heard someone cry out to him from below the battlements.

“Who are you?” Hill, widely rumored to be a bastard of either Tywald or Tion Lannister, demanded of the stranger, who seemed to have a lot of retainers just then.

“I am Lord Gendry Baratheon, son of Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Surrender at once, or else we shall surely take this castle from you, anyway. Save yourselves the difficulties of resisting us. Most of your comrades are already in captivity and heading north for the Wall to take the black. The ones who aren’t dead and burnt, that is.

“You have no reserves coming to you, ser. Nor provisions, for that matter. The rest of your garrisons have already yielded to the Unsullied and the Dothraki. The Stormlands are swept clean of your Lannister filth, one by one, and are well rid of them. I’m not Mace Tyrell. I won’t sit idly by and eat and drink my way to fatness and sloth while investing this holdfast.

“There is no Onion Knight coming to save you, either. He’s the Onion Lord now, and he’s on MY SIDE! Every day that you are under siege here, you will lose men. I swear that to you. And every man who comes up against me will have his chest caved in with this, my father’s very own warhammer.

“Furthermore, as you can see, the bannermen of the Stormlands have all flocked to my own banners, friends. They did so in mere days, my friend. Why, because these are the Stormlands, and the name of House Baratheon still commands respect here. I am the last true Baratheon and I demand that you surrender this castle to me.

“Remember, if you refuse, you choose to die of privation, of exposure, of hunger, of thirst, of disease, as happens in castles and cities under siege. That’s a horrid way to go, and even if you’re willing to do so, will your men be? Will the servants be willing to die that way with you, men and women who served my father all of the days of his life?

“Think about it. Men and women who served Lord Renly and Lord Stannis? Will they gladly give up their own lives for House Lannister? The very same house that schemed to put cuckold’s horns on a stag and murder their own King?” Gendry now asserted, feeling more confident due to the fact that Storm’s End was indeed the last stand of all Lannister forces whatsoever in Westeros.

Lord Gendry Baratheon had been somewhat taught and tutored on how to speak a little less Flea Bottom, a bit more Storm’s End, more classic Baratheon arrogance and fury. He sounded less a smith from the Street of Steel, more the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, by the day. He also carried his father’s weapon of choice, a warhammer, which looked very impressive indeed. He even had his father’s black hair and his father’s eyes.

“Never! I will not yield the last holdfast in Lannister hands! If I am the last lion, I will roar one more time! You have stolen Casterly Rock, but you won’t get Storm’s End without a fight!” Ser Martyn insisted, even as he heard voices grow closer.

Then he heard screams and the flash of steel in the darkness. Looking down into the keep in a hurry, he saw several men and women coming up at him with brandished arms. What in Seven Hells was going on now? What had happened?

That was when he realized that the Baratheon bannermen were actually entering Storm’s End! Someone had let them into the castle! Ser Martyn’s hands shook with rage mingled with panic and terror, knowing that the enemy was inside the walls now. The Lannister cause was doomed and there was no changing that fact by now. They just didn’t have enough bannermen to fight their way out of the stronghold to their safety, either.